


Sillage

by unseelieCollapsar



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseelieCollapsar/pseuds/unseelieCollapsar
Summary: When time came for him to weigh anchor, Law couldn't part with you, and you couldn't let him leave you behind.
Relationships: Trafalgar D. Water Law/Reader
Kudos: 43





	Sillage

"So soon?"

The submarine in the harbour, as familiar as a wandering cat, always found its way back to your island. Its flag mended, its yellow coat restored, its crew housed and fed. Bepo delighted the children, Shachi and Penguin hung out with friends. They fixed and stocked the ship.

Law oversaw the work, the loading, the upkeep. And between tasks, he lay in your bed.

Well-deserved quiet embraced both your minds like the cotton quilts tangled at your ankles. Head on his chest, arms around waists, fingers linked. The sun poured through the gossamer curtains and splashed the wall a thousand shades of gold.

"It's been over a month," he murmured in your straggly hair, brushing out of the way the few strands keeping your gaze from his. He dipped his head to rest a trailing kiss along your neck. "We never stay so long in the same village."

"And with me?"

"Pirates leave."

"But this time's different. You won't return."

"No," he sighed, something like surrender in his voice, yet sweeter, delighting in losing to you, "not for a long time."

A lump formed in your throat, heavy with hopes and fears and a question that dripped from your longue like molten lead. "Is the Grand Line so important?" More than me, you wanted to, but didn't, add.

Law sat up, shedding sheets and you, at the edge of the bed where he could so readily stand and leave. Propped up on an elbow, you drew the ridges of his back, first with distracted eyes then a gentle forefinger. He stared. Off into the rectangle of light in the wall, a living photo of the Polar Tang. A view he wouldn't enjoy again. The view by his side, on the other hand, he didn't have to be torn apart from.

He rolled his shoulders, stretched, unknotted his muscles. Straightened his thoughts with his spine. And he twisted to face you, gripping the hand that grazed his weathered skin as if it were the softest silk, and tentatively asked in dulcet tones:

"May I make a selfish demand?"

You giggled a sleepy chime. "Sweetheart, it's about time you were selfish." Crane your neck to kiss his shoulder. "Shoot."

"Stay — come. With us. Join the crew." He brought your knuckles to his lips, offering love in the palm of your woven hands. "Sail with me around the Grand Line."


End file.
